"You had a terrible time," he said, to one on his knees by a big brown horse, which stood there with an occasional shiver as he applied healing ointment to its many wounds. "The whole world will ring with it."
"Alt blamed foolishness, sir," growled the man--who had lost his own horse and most of his chums in the foolishness, and so was in a mighty bad humour--and lifted a casual sticky finger in recognition of the Colonel's brilliant uniform.
"I'm afraid it was, but you did it nobly. Can you tell me anything of Cornet Carron? Was he in it?"
"In it and out of it, sir, thanks be! He's too good a sort to lose. He's inside there. This is his horse I'm patching up, 'cos he wouldn't lie quiet till I done it." And the Colonel dived into the tent with a grateful heart, and found Jim fast asleep on a hastily made couch. His wounds had been bound up, and there were even mottled white streaks on his face where a hasty sponge had made an attempt to clean it. But he was sleeping soundly, and it was the very best medicine he could have.
The Colonel went quietly out again to wait. He gave the horse-mender a very fine cigar, and lit it for him along with his own.
"Bully!" said the man. "Best thing I've tasted since I left Chelsea."
"Your losses must be very heavy."
"Under two hundred at roll-call, sir, and we went in over six."
"Awful!"
"Set of ---- fools we were, sir; but we showed 'em what was in us, an' now mebbe they won't talk about us any more as they have bin doen."